


be with me.

by dojimasqueen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, I have a lot of feelings, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, TRoS Spoilers, ben lives lalala, well more like a series of drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dojimasqueen/pseuds/dojimasqueen
Summary: A series of drabbles dedicated the Reylo, post-TROS  Fixing what JJ screwed up. | drabble one: rey suffers a nightmare that feels all too real.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 5
Kudos: 168





	be with me.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for the Star Wars fandom, so some details may be off, but you are welcome to correct me in a polite manner! I recently watched TROS which turned a former anti-Reylo into a pro-Reylo. Funny how that works. The ending was a disaster for me, emotionally, like it was to most of us Reylo shippers, so I’ve taken it upon myself to fix it through writing. This will be a series of drabbles set after the events of TROS, in a universe where Ben survived. These may be connected, but they will not be in any particular order. I hope you enjoy!

_Be with me._

She repeats it, a mantra in her head, fingers tangling themselves in the black fabric that once clung to skin moist with sweat. Her eyes close, her grip on the fabric tightening until her knuckles whiten. She pushes past the voices that call out to her, that congratulate her on a job well done. She shakes her head, as though that will ward off the Jedi of the past.

_Be with me._

Obi-Wan is the first to respond. “We already are.”

_Be with me._

“We are always with you,” states Qui-Jon.

_Be with me._

Anakin chimes in. “We’re right by your side.”

_Be with me!_

“He’s gone, Rey,” Luke’s voice echoes within her mind. “He isn’t coming back.”

There’s a warmth on her skin, flowing slowly down her cheeks. She blinks and tears are set free. They fall silently, droplets dangling from her jaw until they give way to splatter against the cold, stone ground. She clutches the shirt to her chest, a masculine scent wafting off of it. Lifting it to her nose, Rey breathes in the familiar scent. Merely seconds ago, she had held him in her arms; she had tasted his lips and witnessed his boyish grin. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how much she longed for him, his companionship, his love...

Grit teeth and pressed lips part to accommodate the scream that rips through her throat. Her voice echoes off of the stone walls of the throne room, masking the sounds of ships as they race through the air, desperate to leave Exogol before the Sith fleet fall upon them. There is an unbearable pain in the center of her chest, as if her heart has been ripped in two. Her body slumps forward, sobs racking through her, and, in her pain, Rey nearly rips the shirt in two.

...

She wakes with a jolt, heart threatening to beat out of her chest. Strands of hair stick to her skin, stick with sweat. She breathes heavily, struggling to catch her breath. Her hands grip her bedsheets, knuckles as white as they were in her nightmare. It is then that she takes note of her surroundings. The air smells of dirt and sand, while the adobe walls around her keep the room cool. She notices the sun in that moment, shining through the opened window. She lifts a hand to cover her eyes, squinting through the gaps between her fingers. This is Tatooine, she recalls, and she resides temporarily in an abandoned home not far from what once harbored Luke as a child. A sigh rushes through her nostrils—her head throbs from the terrors in the night. She pushes herself up with her hands, folding her legs and resting her palms atop the sides of her knees. Her eyes slip closed and she taps into the Force.

“Be with me,” she whispers into the silence.

There is no response, not even from the Jedi of the past.

She is alone, she realizes, just as she had started out. Friendless, parentless, loveless.

It is instinctive at this point. “Be with me,” she whispers once more, hands curling into fists.

Silence.

She floats off of the bed as though weightless, the Force enveloping her as she meditates. “Be with me, be with me, be with me!”

Something falls off of a shelf in the kitchen, crashing to the floor with an earsplitting clank! She grits her teeth and her brow twitches as she curses her heightened senses in this state. “BB-8, be more careful. I’m meditating.”

“That droid isn’t that careless,” a male voice assures her. “Never underestimate one, remember?”

The voice is familiar and warm, filled with peace and contentment. Her mind is playing tricks on her, she’s sure, and hot tears escape through tightly closed eyelids. “You’re not real,” she shakes her head, growling the words through her teeth. “You’re not real.”

Footsteps bring the voice closer to her, though he remains silent.

“You’re not real,” Rey growls again. “You’re not. There’s no way.”

“But I am,” the man says calmly. He’s close. Too close. “You were dreaming.”

“Get away!” With a thrust of her open palm, Rey pushes the man backward with the Force. Another crash in the kitchen—plates shatter and pots and pans tumble; a crack rips through the cupboards beneath the sink. Her eyes open to settle on the scene, and with a flick of her wrist, her lightsaber rises from its place upon the end table and slides into her hand. She flips the switch and the blade roars to life as she lurches to her feet in a defensive stance.

There’s a man—a very real man—slumped over in the kitchen. He’s landed on his ass, adobe bricks the only thing to break his descent backward. Around him lies mess and destruction, caused by an emotional response from the distraught Jedi. A mess of black hair, wind blown from her push, obscured his facial features. But that build, that jaw, those lips... she would know those anywhere.

“Ben?”

“Yes.” The former Supreme Leader shakes the hair away from his eyes. His gaze lands on the Jedi, distraught. He struggles to stand, pain coursing through his back with every movement of his limbs. He dusts the sand and bits of brick off of his clothing. “You had a nightmare. Another one. Or, so I’m guessing.”

“Another...?” It all comes flooding back to her. The battle against the Emperor; her teamwork with Ben; her death; his sacrifice. But, that wasn’t how it happened, was it? She recalls the reborn Ben Solo transferring his life force into her so that she may live; the kiss they shared after it all; his collapse as he succumbed to the depletion of the Force within him. Rey had cradled him in her arms, pleading with him to stay with her, to be with her. He was fading, and her heart was splitting in two. But before he could become one with the Force, a familiar face had shown itself beside her. A wrinkled hand came to rest against Ben’s cheek, cradling him in a way only a mother could. “It is not yet time for my son to go,” Leia’s projection smiled, thumb running against her son’s bloodied skin. “Kylo Ren is dead, but that does not mean Ben Solo should face a similar fate.” Though the woman had passed, the Force within her had refused to let go. A motherly instinct, Rey suspected, to remain within the world of the living should her son need her.

“Leia.” For some reason, it was all Rey could say as she watched the former general fade from existence.

“A boy in pain for a great deal of his life deserves to feel happiness.” Leia leans down to press her lips to her son’s cheek. “Make sure he does not live with regret, Rey. Make sure he remains the joyful boy I once knew.”

As Leia faded from the world, and air filled Ben’s lungs, Rey made her promise.

A flick of a switch in the present, and Rey’s lightsaber retracts into the hilt. She floats back down to the floor, feet planted firmly, and lets her saber fall from her hand. Ben holds her gaze, walking towards her with long, slow strides. He holds his hands out before him, as though he is approaching an untamed beast. _You’re missing the calming easy, girl, you say when approaching an animal,_ she thinks. A hesitant smile twitches to life on his face as he thinks a reply. _You’re not an animal. You’re just scared._

When this distance is closed, his hands lower back to his sides. Rey keeps his gaze, terrified that, should she break it, he will disappear, proving to be a figment of her imagination. “I’m real,” Ben murmurs. She has forgotten the intensity of the bond they share. It’s as if they are one, Palpetine had commented, and anything one feels, the other feels it just as strong. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She lifts her hands, aiming to grasp the shirt clinging to his skin, the same black shirt he had faded from in her nightmare. They find purchase, and Rey clings to the fabric desperately. A moment passes, and Rey moves to cradle his face in her palms. His skin is warm from the twin suns, and a coarse stubble scratches at her skin. Ben’s eyes slip closed.

“I thought I had lost you.”

“But you didn’t.”

She can hear the rhythmic thump of his heart when she presses her ear to his chest. Her hands travel his body, feeling every inch of skin and muscle in an effort to reiterate that he is neither a figment if her imagination nor a Force ghost. Her arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close to her body. A sigh escapes her when he returns the gesture.

He is here.

He is alive.

“You’re with me,” she mumbles, burying her face in his chest.

He presses his lips to the top of her head. “I’m with you.”


End file.
